


Playing the Same Game at Different Levels (The Same Hell Remix)

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Post-Canon, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 21:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20347054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: After the Yellow Warehouse, Light receives a visitor in prison.





	Playing the Same Game at Different Levels (The Same Hell Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [still_lycoris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Same Hell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18079328) by [still_lycoris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris). 

Light got used to the cell easily enough. His life, after all, had never been about travel, adventure, anything like that. He’d spent his adolescence going from school to home and back with occasional stops at the tennis court. During his work with L, he’d spent nearly all his time at HQ at the other end of L’s chain, which had arguably been more draining, and during his years functioning as L himself, he’d still mostly stayed at HQ with occasional trips to gather evidence or put strategies into motion. He’d also once spent weeks in a smaller, grimmer cell being told he was Kira while he was convinced he was not in order to satisfy L’s suspicions.

This situation was a lot like that, except worse.

Near was not L. He did not ask Light whether he was Kira. He did not even tell him over and over again, repeating the accusation with the same flatly passionate voice until Light nearly went insane denying it. He simply sat Light down and presented him with the chain of evidence that had led to his own conclusions, and then with video evidence of Light actively trying to kill his team and then suffering a breakdown.

“That didn’t happen,” Light said. That wasn’t how he remembered it at all. He remembered his team suddenly acting irrational—Near’s false accusations—and then Matsuda going crazy and shooting his hand, which was still recovering… it had felt like a bad dream, but he hadn’t…

“You may watch it again, if you wish,” Near said. “In fact, you may watch it at any time you desire. After all, you may get bored in here, and I expect you will go into denial, which is something I will not accept. You are being punished for your actions as Kira. If you do not understand that, your punishment is pointless.”

His eyes gleamed, and Light, who had always found both of L’s supposed successors ridiculous and unworthy of the title, understood one thing at least: that Near was just as petty and vicious as L had been, and just like L, he wanted to see Light squirm.

Light had never understood why L was so convinced he was Kira, why L would sometimes act like they were best friends and then like they were mortal enemies.

Really, he’d never understood that.

Had he?

“You’re a smart man, Yagami,” Near said. “You know that giving up a notebook or having your notebook be destroyed erases your memories of it. So look into your memories, and I’m sure you’ll find places where things don’t add up. You’ll accept the truth eventually. But, as I said, if you ever need video evidence, just say so. You’re under constant surveillance. One of the guards will hear and bring it to you. We can do it as many times as you wish.”

He showed Light the video twice more before leaving, watched Light on the screen panicking and screaming with that same viciousness in his eyes.

It was disturbing. That he had behaved like Kira. That he might really be Kira, something he’d never really considered before—except that one time he turned himself over to L for confinement, and he couldn’t remember why he did that, couldn’t remember—that his memories might be tampered with, and—this he did remember already—that he had allowed himself to behave so wretchedly in front of so many observers. Perhaps the Kira theory was more believable purely because here, onscreen, he saw himself acting with so little dignity. That couldn’t be him. It could be the him he remembered, at least. He had far more pride than that. Had being Kira destroyed his pride?

(He was aware that was not what should have bothered him about it all, but.

Maybe that was another proof he might be Kira. L had always said Kira had a massive ego.)

In any case. He got used to the cell easily enough. It was more comfortable than the one L had put him in, and they gave him plenty of reading material. But it was not so easy to get used to the idea that he really, actually might be a criminal.

And, surprisingly, it wasn’t very easy getting used to being alone. Light thought he remembered being alone a lot of the time at work, and he knew that when he needed to work long hours for cases and was around the rest of the team all the time, he’d often craved a little peace and quiet. And privacy. He’d spend hours on end working on his own too—on leads, he thought, only he couldn’t remember what the leads had been, which was as disturbing as anything else—and really, it shouldn’t have been so hard to adjust to not being around his team anymore.

He hadn’t even liked them that much. Couldn’t really remember why, of course. But apart from his father, he’d felt kind of tense around most of them (and if he was honest, his father wasn’t even an exception, only there’d been affection there as well to balance it off). He hadn’t liked them—they hadn’t been able to keep up with him—and now they probably all hated him.

But he kind of missed having someone for company who wasn’t Near or one of Near’s severe and silent underlings.

Then, when he had been in the cell for a long time and was nearly used to all of it—the cell, the loneliness, the being Kira, all of it—and it had been maybe months, maybe a year, he wasn’t entirely sure—Near’s voice came in over the intercom to inform him that Matsuda would be coming in to visit in about fifteen minutes.

* * *

(Fifteen fucking minutes.

Seriously, Near?

_Seriously_, Near????)

* * *

He didn’t really have time to think about such matters as why Matsuda might be coming and how Matsuda might react to him and how he should react to Matsuda. Of course, he’d thought about what the team would be doing without him before, and what they might think of him, but he had to admit most of the time those trains of thought were futile and best derailed as quickly as possible. Thinking about Matsuda was especially so, because it made him think about Matsuda’s angry face when he shot him—one thing he could remember quite clearly—the sharp contrast between that anger and their relationship as he remembered it, though of course he knew there were inaccuracies…

Anyways, there was no time to ponder whether the Matsuda coming here would be the doormat idiot he remembered or the avenging angel of his bad dreams. Only time to compose himself, and hope he didn’t show any sign of nerves.

(Not that he was nervous.)

Matsuda, when he came in and sat down on the other side of the glass, was looking not so bad, considering. Sure, he looked tired and kind of nervous. But Matsuda always looked tired and kind of nervous.

It was almost reassuring to think that much hadn’t changed, but Light didn’t allow himself to be reassured. He couldn’t afford to relax. He allowed himself only a brief, slightly apologetic smile, the kind he supposed would be most appropriate, the kind he thought the old him would offer from time to time. “Hello, Matsuda-san. It’s good to see you.”

Matsuda didn’t quite smile back. He twitched. But his first words were an apology to match Light’s expression: “I, I wanted to come sooner…”

“That’s all right.” Light really didn’t want to go down that road. He had wondered briefly whether anyone on the team would come visit him—they were the only ones who knew he was still alive—but he’d settled it in his head that they surely wouldn’t, and was more shocked that Matsuda would show up even now than anything else. But it was hardly something he wanted to go into. “You must have been busy.” A more innocent reason. Maybe he could keep this on normal ground for a few minutes at least. (Though he wasn’t sure why he wanted to.) “Of course, I don’t get to read newspapers or watch the news anymore but I expect the crime rate is going up.”

This did not calm Matsuda down as much as Light had hoped. Why not? Matsuda usually always liked reassurance, didn’t he?

Oh, yeah. Saying the crime rate would go up with Kira gone made him sound a lot like Kira.

Not really an auspicious start to the visit. But he sat down, and Matsuda mirrored him, and he felt a tiny tingle of control. Maybe he was Kira, and maybe he was a prisoner, but Matsuda still looked up to him. When he wasn’t shooting him in the hand, at least.

He still looked nervous, though. Light gently pressed him. “You don’t look very well, Matsuda-san. I hope that’s not the case?”

He felt a sudden rush of curiosity, though the question had only been polite. Near never told him anything about how anyone was doing, or about any current events. If he could only get Matsuda started…

“N-no, I’m okay. Like you say, it’s been busy. Are you well?”

…apparently a non-starter.

Light could think of nothing more boring to talk about than his own life here, living like an animal in a cage, but then, that was why people went to the zoo, wasn’t it? They didn’t want to talk about themselves, they wanted to talk about the animals.

But Matsuda was waiting for an answer. “Not bad,” he said. “As you can see, it’s a nice room. So far, they haven’t refused me any of the books that I’ve asked for.” Matsuda was nodding, clearly satisfied, and some wicked impulse forced Light to blandly add, “And my hand is healing nicely. I’ll be able to write again properly soon.”

Now Matsuda was uncomfortable again. That was probably counterproductive, but when Light thought about it (he really wished Near had given him time to think about it before letting Matsuda in), what kind of product was this meeting supposed to have anyways? Dancing around the fact that Matsuda had shot him and he—he’d apparently tried to kill Matsuda even though he couldn’t remember it—wouldn’t do either of them any good.

Yet, although Light watched carefully, Matsuda only looked uncomfortable, not as vengeful or angry as he had looked on that night everything changed.

Maybe that Matsuda hadn’t even been real. Maybe Light remembered it wrongly.

The video, which he’d seen many times by now, showed Matsuda shooting Light, but it didn’t show his face.

Now Matsuda was stumbling over his words, trying to find more polite things to say. Asking whether anyone else had come to visit (obviously not, and that Matsuda would bother to ask almost made Light laugh) and then whether he was allowed to exercise, of all things, and it was just getting too ridiculous. “Matsuda-san, did you really come here to see if they’re treating me well?”

Matsuda winced. But he finally said something relevant. “You don’t remember, do you?”

Light affirmed it. He wondered if he sounded serene enough, accepting enough. Near would doubtless visit to gloat about all of this later…

But Matsuda, the idiot who didn’t know when to stop, asked, “What’s it like?”

“Like?” How the fuck did Matsuda imagine it was like? (It was one of the things Near was always harping on when they talked, the gap between the evidence and the memories, the gaps, the gaps…) “It’s strange. There are gaps that render my whole life nonsensical, if I think about them too much. My mind mostly papers them over. It’s natural, the human brain doesn’t like inconsistency and prefers a narrative that makes sense. When I think about them, I can see it but I can’t understand them.”

Matsuda’s eyes were wide. It was different from talking to Near about it. Near pretty much understood everything about Light already, but Matsuda genuinely wanted to listen and know, and Light found words spilling out of him. “I mean, I assume that Near-san is correct when he tells me that I lived with Misa because she was the Second Kira but I don’t really remember why I chose to, only that I did. I remember meeting with Takada for the case but almost nothing of our meetings remains. I remember my father dying in an explosion in America because we were attacking Mello’s headquarters but I have no idea why we were so confident that that was the moment to do so…”

And now Matsuda was starting to look a little queasy. As if he were disgusted that Light could remember all of these things without remembering the most important part. Light couldn’t resist: “I remember you shooting me in the warehouse but to my mind, it was the act of someone fundamentally irrational because I know that I hadn’t done anything wrong.”

It was a half truth. “Irrational”—yes, but more than that. The anger, the hurt, the righteousness… he could remember all of it and it frightened him, but Matsuda didn’t have to know any of that. He wished he had forgotten more of that night than he had.

But Matsuda didn’t look angry, just shaken. Even guilty. He never had a poker face. Back in the day it just made him a bit unreliable, a bit amusing. Right now Light somehow found it infuriating.

“You had done something wrong.” Oh, so self righteous. “You were Kira, you—”

“I know you say that. But I don’t remember it, Matsuda-san. I can’t remember making that choice. I can’t remember doing any of the things that Near-san likes to tell me that I did. I can’t… understand how I could have let it happen. My father…”

And that, right there, was showing his neck too much.

Near would definitely be jumping on this later when they talked. He wished Near hadn’t let Matsuda in in the first place. Something about the man’s earnestness got to him. Made him try to excuse himself (_I can be self-righteous too! I can be the man you used to look up to!_) when he knew his actions were inexcusable.

He took a deep breath. He needed to stay calm. He couldn’t let Near mock him for this later. More importantly, Matsuda would probably never come here again. No, it would be better if he never did—for Light and for him too, probably. But Light couldn’t let him walk away with the impression that Light was as pathetic and weak as he’d been in the warehouse, as he looked in that video.

Calm. But. He could still at least collect information. That would be productive. “They’ve told my mother and Sayu that I’m dead, right?”

“Yes.” Matsuda spoke so quietly Light could almost hear him. What right had he to be upset over Light’s problems when he’d shot Light in the hand and helped Near to arrest him? But he’d always been soft—and, Light reminded himself, the arrest had been righteous, Matsuda had been in the right no matter how much it stung…

“I suppose it’s for the best that they think that.”

And this, for some reason, was the straw that finally broke Matsuda’s quiet. He sprang to his feet, more infuriated by this than by anything else Light had said. “The best? The _best?_ They think you’re _dead!_ Your mother lost her husband and son in the space of three months! How can it be for the _best?_”

Breathe.

For a moment they just looked at each other, Matsuda breathing hard (red-faced, and must he always carry on so?) and Light breathing steadily because he knew how to regulate these things. Then he said, “I suspect she’d rather have me dead than Kira.”

This was a fact, a simple fact. Light had thought it over, time and time again. Like a cell, like being Kira, the thought of his family thinking he was dead was something he’d gotten used to.

It was even comforting, in a way. They’d never come and see him like this, like a fly pinned to the wall, a macabre attraction. They’d remember him as—as he remembered himself.

He continued, “It isn’t as though she could exactly visit me, is she? Nobody knows I’m here. I’m guessing even you don’t know where we are. If Near-san wants to move me and not tell you, I suppose he would. If my mother knew, that might change. He doesn’t want that.”

“He can hear you,” Matsuda said.

That was so obvious Light had to fight back a laugh. “Oh, I’m aware of it. He can watch me all the time, if he chooses, I know where all the cameras are. We talk, sometimes, but not much. He hates me, you know. Because of Ryuzaki.”

“Ryuzaki was your friend,” Matsuda said.

“Yes, I think so too, Matsuda-san.” From what Near had told him and he had deduced, maybe it was partly true. Maybe the person who had gotten to know Ryuzaki hadn’t been Kira, or hadn’t remembered being Kira. Maybe he’d been like Light was now. It was true Light could remember that time period with few gaps. Irritation mixed with euphoria, the thrill of the chase. And yes, camaraderie. And Ryuzaki had said they were friends…

But then, Ryuzaki had lied sometimes.

And Ryuzaki had known Light was Kira. So even then, maybe Light hadn’t really understood what was going on at all. Or maybe Light had been faking it then too. There was no way to know, really, not definitively.

He swallowed. “I suppose neither of us remember reality, do we? And that’s why you’re here, isn’t it, Matsuda-san? You can’t bring yourself to really believe that I might have worked with you so long and yet been so uncaring as to kill you without a second thought. You want to believe that you would have noticed if you were with someone that despised you enough to see you die.”

Matsuda stared at him. Waiting for a reprieve.

Light could have told him…

Could have told him anything. All sorts of comforting things. He could have told Matsuda that he remembered being somewhat more comfortable with Matsuda than with some of the others. Or his suspicion that insomuch as this memory was correct, it might be because the Kira version of him had harbored less fear that Matsuda might discover his secret. He could have told Matsuda that he remembered a vague fondness, like one might feel for a dog, but there was no telling whether Matsuda would find that comforting or insulting, even though Light had a hard time remembering stronger positive feelings for anyone else except maybe his father. He could have told Matsuda that he remembered loving working with the task force in general, feeling like together they could accomplish anything, bring any criminal to justice.

None of these memories mattered. They were all corrupted, likely false. And why should he want to reassure Matsuda anyway? It would be better not to give Matsuda a reason to feel kinship with Kira. It would be better not to give him any reason to hold onto false hope that he’d had a relationship with the man Light had been. Even Light himself could not have a relationship with that man. Better to let him fade into the past.

So he said what was probably the kindest thing: “I’m sorry, Matsuda-san. When I think about working with you, I feel absolutely nothing at all. You were just there and you wouldn’t go away. That’s all. You were nothing. You were nobody.”

It wasn’t cruel, he told himself, even as he saw Matsuda stumble back. It would have been cruel to say he had felt hate. That would be something Matsuda would ponder on. What he had said was probably the truth, if his memories hadn’t been corrupted. The old Light, Kira, wouldn’t have felt anything for Matsuda. It was kinder for Matsuda to know that. Maybe he could leave Kira behind.

Already he was looking at the door.

Light smiled. He felt they’d both done a good job today, probably. Matsuda had been brave to come; Light had done what was right in telling him a harsh truth. He could spare the kindness for a friendly goodbye. “It was kind of you to come, Matsuda-san.” When that garnered no reply, he added, “I’m sure my father would have appreciated it.” Matsuda had always respected Light’s father, after all.

Matsuda said, “No. He would have told me to leave you to rot.”

If Light reacted to that, it was only because it was unexpected—coming from Matsuda at least.

He knew perfectly well that his father would never have loved him if he knew he were Kira.

* * *

Near spoke over the intercom a brief while later. “Yagami.”

“Near-san.” Near never spoke to him politely, but Light was always polite in response. Their respective positions were quite different after all—and Light was a criminal, and Near was L.

“He is gone.”

Already?

Well, of course he wouldn’t have lingered. And Near probably wanted him out as badly as he wanted to be out. It was a marvel that he’d come here at all.

Light said, “I’d prefer if you didn’t let him come back.”

“Oh?”

“What would be the point?”

“As you say.”

* * *

“You were very rude to Matsuda-san,” Near said later. He’d come to Light’s room himself to meet him in a game of chess. This was something he did from time to time. Sometimes he won, sometimes Light did. Light didn’t really care either way. Ryuzaki had never bothered to play chess with him—it was a very academic way of proving one’s intellect, and they had both known the real proof of intelligence was in one’s actions in real life. And on that front, Near had beaten Light thoroughly.

“I wasn’t,” Light disagreed. “I merely told him the truth. If he’s offended by me, it’s not my fault.”

“By which you mean he is offended by your past self and not by your current self, which is perfectly moral and righteous.”

“I just think it would be pointless to pretend I wasn’t Kira, or that I’m sorry for something I can’t remember, or that Matsuda and I used to be best friends. I thought you approved of me not lying anymore.”

“Ah, but Yagami, you always lie.”

“I didn’t. You can review the videos, if you want.”

“You lied when you said Matsuda didn’t mean anything to you. You have wondered aloud about Matsuda’s wellbeing approximately forty times since coming here.”

“I don’t really expect anyone to tell me anything, though.”

“Still, that is twice as many times as you have asked about any other individual outside your family.”

“I guess I remember the man who shot me in the hand.”

Near had still made only one move, and Light gestured at the board in irritation. Near sighed and moved another piece. He always acted like he was indulging Light by playing this game, even though Light never actually asked him to do it. Chess wasn’t nearly as riveting as Near seemed to think Light thought it was.

“Your egoism is astounding,” Near said.

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“You could at least have allowed the man some closure. He is a good man, and you profess to be good these days, don’t you? Since forgetting your crimes made you a completely different and essentially innocent person.”

Light gritted his teeth. “I never claimed to be innocent. And if he wanted closure, he’s gotten it. I could have sat there and said nothing and still fulfilled the same function. He just needed to get a look at me, and now he has.”

Near hummed.

“Besides, it wouldn’t suit your purposes to have him coming back again, would it? You’d have to keep me in one convenient location. And you don’t really want me to get visitors.”

“I do not particularly care either way, Yagami. You are mistaken if you think you occupy much of my brain. I kept you alive because you should have to live with the knowledge of your crimes, and without the self-righteousness to protect yourself. I give you humane conditions because I’m a good person. Otherwise, I don’t really care what happens to you.”

Near told lies like this a lot.

Light moved a piece on the board half-heartedly. His mind wasn’t on the game. Doubtless this told Near just how badly seeing Matsuda had jarred him; he’d have to try to focus. Still, it seemed Near had enjoyed seeing Matsuda’s visit, at least. Perhaps he was disappointed that Matsuda wouldn’t be coming back to offer him more entertainment.

A barbaric attitude. Matsuda didn’t deserve to be more involved in Light’s pathetic life, or caught up in what was now past. Or involved in any of Near’s inscrutable games. Light said, “You won’t invite Matsuda over again, though.”

“I did not invite him this time either. He asked. If he asks again, I suppose I’ll acquiesce.”

“But you said—”

“What? I acknowledged you may not see a point in seeing him again. But your wishes do not matter in this situation, Yagami. Matsuda’s do.” Near tilted his head slightly. “Does that gall you?”

“Matsuda is a self-flagellating idiot. Don’t indulge him.”

“Mm. But I think I might.” Near fiddled with a piece he clearly had no intention of moving. “So, do you think he will want to see you again, Yagami?”

After Light had done what he could to send him flying? After the angry way he’d left, sniping at Light about his father? A cheap shot. (A home shot—but Light didn’t like to think about it, and it had been his own fault for bringing Soichiro up in the first place.)

But Matsuda was Matsuda.

“It’s hard to predict an idiot,” he said coolly. “Next time, you could maybe warn me a bit earlier.”

“So you think there will be a next time. But you shouldn’t call him an idiot, you know. I thought you said you weren’t being rude.” Near’s eyes gleamed. “I’ve given you this chance for penance. You could at least learn to be kinder in how you talk about people.”

“Tch.” He hadn’t said it to Matsuda’s face. “As if you care about that.”

Surprisingly enough, Near didn’t spend the rest of the game taunting Light about how he’d cracked when Matsuda had brought up his father, or wavered when they talked about his memories. Probably he was saving ammunition for later. Instead, he interrogated Light about his feelings for Matsuda, which was ridiculous because, as Light had told Matsuda, there really were none. None that mattered, at least.

Before he left, he told Light that he’d be away for a few days, but of course the guards would take care of Light’s needs. Very polite, and no reference to what case he’d taken on. No, it would be too much for Light to know anything about the outside world, even about things he couldn’t possibly affect. Better for him to remain isolated and disconnected. That way he was less dangerous. If it drove him a little mad, all the better.

But, Light thought to himself, letting Matsuda in wouldn’t make things better. Matsuda wasn’t going to give him news either. And Matsuda couldn’t take him outside into the fresh air. And Matsuda couldn’t change the fact that he had been Kira. Even if he were to love Light again, worship Light again, cling to Light as he used to, it wouldn’t change a single thing.

Better if he didn’t come back, then. But Light had a niggling suspicion that he would.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a remix of still_lycoris's fic "The Same Hell", except from Light's point of view instead of Matsuda's, and with just a little expansion. As such, I took most of the dialogue from "The Same Hell". It's a fun fic, and I recommend it.


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